Swift Sword
by Loretta Lyon
Summary: How Jane raced to help Weller in the Terminal during "Bone May Rot," and the thoughts that followed. (Rated for uncouth language)


"Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all" _Avenging and Bright_ , Thomas Moore

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"We should have stayed with him." Jane's stomach churned with anxiety. Not even Reade's blasé, "it's over. He's fine," comforted her.

Restlessly, she ambled up and down the too small space in the tent, watching Dr. Suri as he tried to bring Weller in, as he scooped up a Hazmat suit, as he headed off to the terminal…towards Weller.

"He's fine, Jane." Zapata tried to comfort the agitated woman.

Jane nodded, an acknowledgment of Tasha's words, but couldn't seem to rein in her restlessness. She sat as one of the CDC doctors instructed, but jiggled her knee up and down. Everything felt wrong. While the doctor wrapped a rubber band around her upper arm and prepared to take a sample of blood, Jane found herself feeling an ocean of empathy for Weller's response during the earlier CDC lockdown. Something was wrong, and she couldn't **DO** anything.

She stopped jiggling her knee.

Actually, she **COULD** do something.

Jane shot to her feet, ripping the band from her biceps. She heard the doctor yelp, but ignored it. Striding quickly out of the tent, she heard Zapata and Reade calling her back as well. It didn't matter. She was running, racing through the now empty corridors, straining to hear or see anything that could define her unease and offer her a target for her distress.

There. She was almost to Weller, and there were the sounds of a scuffle. Digging deep, Jane found a final burst of speed. She vaulted over a row of seats, reaching out to pull Dr. Suri away from the device. He spun, turned by a combination of both his momentum and hers. Jane delivered a flurry of strikes followed by a kick that sent Suri into Weller's grasp. Kurt knocked the doctor to the ground. Jane found it profoundly satisfying to deliver a kick his face, rendering him unconscious.

Panting a bit and allowing the adrenalin to recede, Jane cast a solemn glance at Weller. She was relieved that he was okay…unharmed. It was confusing to feel a swell of anger aimed directly at him as well. God, she should shake him. What the fuck was he thinking, not keeping someone with him as back up! She wanted to punch him. She wanted to hug him, to touch his face, his hands so that she would have the evidence of experience telling her that he really was okay.

This man. God, this man was impossible. He was stubborn. He was kind. He was, at times, a rock – her rock – and yet, his soul had been so badly wounded over the years and in ways she couldn't comprehend yet.

He deserved to be slapped upside the head. Bastard.

Reade and Zapata had finally caught up to them, so Jane dropped her gaze as Weller explained that Patterson had alerted him to Suri's activities and how the fight ensued. She monitored Suri – still unconscious – then followed the others once the scene had been secured – again – and the CDC personnel had taken over.

What could she say? It wasn't her place to criticize his choices, and he certainly wouldn't listen to her, not about this. He was doing his job, and Jane knew – even after so short an acquaintance – that the job was sacred to him. He couldn't NOT protect people. How could she tell him to be less than what he was?

Jane was still sorting through a chaos of thoughts swirling in her head when she found herself alone – more or less – with Reade.

"Hey, good work today."

The compliment shocked her. "Thank you."

"Look, I know you think I'm the bad guy because I didn't welcome you with open arms."

"You think I'm a liability." Jane saw no reason to soften the sentiment behind his words. "I don't know what more I can do to," but Reade corrected her emphatically.

"I'm not worried about you." Well, that was…surprising. "All of us depend on Weller. He's got better judgment than anyone I've worked with in my whole career. He's made split second decisions that have saved our lives more times than I can count."

Jane felt as though the ground was suddenly unsteady beneath her feet. "I don't understand."

"When he's around you," Reade confided, "The guy I lean on, the guy I know isn't there. That scares the hell out of me."

"There's nothing I can do about that." Jane defended herself.

"I know. That's the problem."

Well…fuck. Jane huffed out a breath and shook her head, turning her attention from Reade and back to her mental confusion.

What was right? Personal goals aside, her tattoos were clues to crimes. Following them offered a potential for bad people to be stopped. That was good. That was positive. It may have even been right.

So far, though, each case had brought danger and close calls. Today…today she'd almost been too late. If she hadn't acted when she did, if she had been just a little slower, Weller would most likely be sick. He'd be facing a horrible death from a disease with no cure. Just the whisper of that thought scared her spitless.

Now, Kurt's friend and colleague had found a way to say things that had obviously been preying on his mind. Jane wasn't a liability for herself. She was a danger to Weller. She changed him. She changed him in ways that – according to Reade – threatened Weller AND his team. And she didn't even know what the changes were. She hadn't known Weller before her rebirth in Times Square, hadn't seen him in action without her influence over him.

Even Reade agreed that there wasn't anything she could do to correct this problem.

What a mess this was. What a god-damned mess. She had cryptic tattoos covering her body that were leading good people into danger. She had no memories of anything that might help her navigate the minefield her life had become and no real feeling of connection to anyone except for a man whose wounds – hidden and unaddressed – were making him lose an edge that could save his life and the lives of his team.

The knowledge she had of her past was miniscule. The effect she was having on the present was troubling, and her future? Well, death stalked everyone. It just seemed a little too enthusiastic about hunting her and people she was coming to care about.

When she discovered who had done this to her, she would introduce them to a world of pain. Maybe Weller was right. Maybe Jane was a good person, a decent person. Maybe. But that wasn't going to stop her when the time came and she stood face to face with the author of this whole ordeal.

He would suffer.

He would die.

It was the least that Jane could do.


End file.
